<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Close Shave by sidneycarter</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29945292">A Close Shave</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidneycarter/pseuds/sidneycarter'>sidneycarter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Father Brown (2013)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comedy, Flirting, Fluff, I suppose, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sheep, Sullivan is a City Boy, kind of, theres no real relationship here but its them being useless as usual</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:07:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,148</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29945292</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidneycarter/pseuds/sidneycarter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sullivan is surrounded by sheep with evil intentions.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sid Carter/Inspector Sullivan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Close Shave</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>ok this is short and a complete mess and idek </p><p>we were talking about sullivan vs the countryside and it happened ok </p><p>as usual i havent proofed so pls excuse spelling and grammar and my general inability to write fic.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s— That’s quite alright, sir, I’ll just—“ Goodfellow is doing a valiant job of attempting to smother his laughter, but he still needs a moment to compose himself, “I’ll send someone out to, um, sort the situation out.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you, Sergeant,” Sullivan grits out from through his teeth. He puts the receiver of the police car phone down and feels part of his soul shrivel up inside him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He is an <em>Inspector </em>for goodness sake. He is supposed to be able to deal with high-stress, high-risk policing incidents without batting an eyelid. And yet here he is, trapped, helpless, and surrounded by sheep. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sullivan cannot <em>stand </em>the countryside. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sullivan is loathe to admit that this predicament is one of his own making. He’d ventured out alone this morning, intending to visit the elderly Mrs Aylesworth and reassure her of the policing progress made following the theft of her prized butternut squash from the allotments. That was his first mistake. He should’ve <em>insisted </em>that someone came along with him, someone in uniform at least. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His second mistake had been turning onto one of the narrow, twisting country roads as he’d left the woods. It was here that he’d immediately come face to face with the woolly menaces. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sullivan’s third and final catastrophic error of judgement was attempting to get the sheep to move. Sullivan had tried everything — beeping the horn, leaning out of the window and waving, even revving the engine — but they wouldn’t shift an inch. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In the end, Sullivan had plumped for driving very slowly towards them, and he’d felt instant relief as the sea of off-white had started to part before him. His joy was short-lived, however, when he got deep into the crowd and they just <em>stopped. </em>The sheep in front of the car resolutely refused to move. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sullivan may not be the hugest fan of farmyard animals but he certainly wasn’t going to run any over. So he’d turned, bracing his hand on the passenger seat in preparation to reverse, and his irritation had quickly transformed into cold-blooded horror. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sheep had surrounded him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It had been ten minutes before Sullivan bit the bullet and phoned Goodfellow for back up. He isn’t sure he’ll ever live down the humiliation. Sullivan tucks his hands under his legs and knocks his forehead gently against the steering wheel. All he has to do now is wait. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sheep show no signs of moving, and no signs of being forgiving for his past indiscretion. One of them makes direct eye contact with him through the side window and bleats threateningly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sullivan gulps. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wonders if it’s possible for sheep to break glass. Their hooves look fairly strong. Some of them have horns. With enough malice and ill-intent, they probably could.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Several of the sheep are watching him, <em>studying </em>him, and their mouths are chewing idly but their eyes are black with what Sullivan assumes can only be vitriolic anger. He shudders; maybe the church was right about the cloven hooves after all. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just as Sullivan is contemplating his untimely death at the hands of these beasts, he spots movement in his rearview mirror. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A motorbike is steaming up the back of him, billowing clouds of unsavoury looking black smoke. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sullivan is <em>saved. </em>It isn’t one of the police bikes, either, so he won’t even have to face the embarrassment of a local, country constable seeing his plight. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man on the bike pulls up to a steady stop at the edge of the sheep herd. He cuts the engine, flips down the kickstand and dismounts the bike with one fluid leg swing before he starts making his way fearlessly through the sheep. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sullivan almost swoons. He’s always been fond of a capable man; smooth but rugged and able to take charge of any situation, always sweeping in at the last minute and saving the day like it’s nothing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The saviour reaches the car window, and Sullivan looks up in grateful adoration as the man unclips his helmet and— Oh dear God, <em>no. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sid Carter raps his knuckles lightly on the window, grinning, and motioning for Sullivan to wind the window down. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What on Earth ‘ave you got yourself into?” He laughs, tipping his head back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sullivan scowls, his stomach plummeting and fiery redness blooming in his cheeks. “What are you doing here, Carter?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sid leans against the roof of the car with his arm and smirks. “I was in the station with Father Brown when Goodfellow got the call. He said something about the poor, unfortunate Inspector being <em>paralysed</em> with fear, surrounded by sheep, and in need of a big strong man to come and save him. The Father suggested I come and help you, seeing as I’ve got my bike an’ all.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sullivan doesn’t know what to say to that. He knows this is only childish teasing, but he feels hotly embarrassed with himself that Sid wasn’t far off his thoughts. “Just get them out of my way, Carter,” He grimaces. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sid chuckles softly to himself before retreating to the back of the car. With a simple wave of his arms and sharp whistle, the sheep immediately start moving forwards. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sullivan nearly turns purple. He’d<em> tried </em>that earlier and the dratted things hadn’t budged. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They’ve escaped from Farmer Bromley’s place,” Sid calls as he passes the window again. “I’ve just got to get ‘em to the end of the road ‘cuz he’s comin’ down the field with his sheepdog to pick ‘em up. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right,” Sullivan says glumly, folding his arms. This is the worst day of his life. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sid returns a few moments later, and he disappointingly has not been trampled to death by the sheep. Sullivan would prefer that at this point; anything to save him from this mortification. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your road is clear, my good sir,” Sid teases, faking a bow and sweeping an arm towards the now empty lane. “Were you really scared?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course not, Carter,” Sullivan hisses, putting the car in gear. “I was <em>irritated</em> that they were disrupting my otherwise pleasant journey to Mrs Aylesworth’s. Now if you’ve quite finished I need you to move out of my way.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No thanks for your knight in shining armour?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You are wearing a dusty leather jacket and corduroys that look like they haven’t been washed in three weeks.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That startles a laugh from Sid. “Can’t I be your knight in a dusty leather jacket and three-week old corduroys then?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Goodbye, Mr. Carter.” Sullivan begins pulling away, but stops himself short after a few feet. He grits his teeth, sets aside all of his pride, and leans out of the window. “Thank you,” He adds brusquely. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sullivan starts off again before he has any time to do anything else that might humiliate himself and permanently ruin his reputation. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just before he gets too far away, he hears a shout. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Anything for my damsel in distress!”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>baa.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>